Cara Romero Captures the Continuity of Indigenous Culture

HANOVER, New Hampshire — A young Kānaka Maoli (Native Hawaiian) woman, Amedée Niamh Kauakohemālamalama Conley-Kapoi, gazes at her audience with calm resolution. Holding a poised hula stance, she leans to one side, arms extended parallel to the ground. Her expression radiates determination and an unyielding presence. She is surrounded by hula implements, some of which are her own. A leaf lei hangs above her, while a stack of books on Kānaka Maoli history and culture from Dartmouth College’s library sits neatly in the lower right corner of the thick border that frames her. This work, “Amedée” (2024), is part of Cara Romero’s (Chemehuevi) First American Doll portrait series depicting Indigenous people. Collaborators rather than mere models for the artist, her subjects actively shape their own representation, selecting the box’s designs, as well as their clothing and the objects that surround them. In “Amedée,” the box’s border features a kapa (Kānaka Maoli barkcloth painting) design created by Lehuauakea, a Kānaka Maoli interdisciplinary artist and kapa maker. 

The portrait series poses a critical question: What stories remain untold in mainstream American culture? Conley-Kapoi, a Dartmouth student who placed second for the 2024 Miss Aloha Hula Award at the prestigious Merrie Monarch Festival, wears the same outfit she donned during the actual competition. Her hula performance honored Princess Victoria Kawēkiu Kaʻiulani Lunalilo Kalaninuiahilapalapa Cleghorn, who was sent to England to further her education and prepare for queenship in the Hawaiian Kingdom — a role she never assumed due to the Kingdom’s 1893 overthrow by American and European businessmen, backed by US military forces.

With this in mind, the agency Conley-Kapoi exerts in shaping her own representation makes “Amedée” especially powerful. Her expression and stance exude self-determination, directly challenging the reductive “hula girl” trope. As Noah Hanohano Dolim, assistant professor of history at the University of Hawai‘i at Mānoa, writes in his essay “Misperceptions of the ‘Hula Girl,’” the hula girl is often depicted as a fair-skinned “Hawaiian” woman swaying in a grass skirt, coconut bra, and tropical flowers — an image that has come to represent both past and present Hawaiian culture. Despite her ubiquity on magazine covers and product labels, Dolim argues that this figure is a commercialized model, promoting a gendered and stereotypical view of Hawai’i. Through Conley-Kapoi’s choices and Romero’s lens, the artwork represents the depth of and pride in Kānaka Maoli womanhood, reclaiming hula as an expression of cultural resilience and strength.

This piece, along with three other photographs featuring Kānaka Maoli women who attend Dartmouth (“Kaitlyn,” “Ha’ina ‘ia mai,” and “Teani and Hope,” all 2024), is part of Romero’s first major solo show, Cara Romero: Panûpünüwügai (Living Light), at Dartmouth College’s Hood Museum of Art. The exhibition’s setting at a higher education institution feels especially fitting: Romero discovered her passion for photography as an undergraduate at the University of Houston. Spanning 63 works created between 2013 and 2025, the show thoroughly explores Romero’s artistic practice, foregrounding her sensitivity to details and subjects. Each thoughtfully composed vision reflects her dedication to sharing stories from an Indigenous perspective. Using striking sets and commanding poses and styling — including empowered examples of nudity in “Nikki” (2014), “Kaa” (2017), and “Peshawn” (2022) — she centers Native identities, imaginations, and histories. 

The exhibition takes viewers through Romero’s vision of the universe. The stories she tells are shaped by her connections to her Chemehuevi homelands in the Mojave Desert and other Indigenous women, as well as the American cultural landscape, natural resource extraction on tribal lands, and Indigenous futures. Women and children, often the most vulnerable members of Native communities, are central to her work, particularly young Chemehuevi boys — her nephews — who appear throughout her imagery as playful mythological figures. Her monumental photographs — many human scale or larger, such as “The Last Indian Market” (2015), a reimagining of Leonardo da Vinci’s “The Last Supper” — alongside major installations inspired by the dramatic photographs “TV Indians” (2017) and “The Zenith” (2022), transform the exhibition into a immersive experience, almost as if her subjects were present and interacting with visitors.

Through photography, Romero confronts the medium’s exploitative history, in which Native people were frequently objectified rather than understood. Her art also confronts the enduring colonial legacies embedded in institutions like Dartmouth. A standout piece in the show, “Cali Gold” (2024) from the Native California series, depicts two young Native women — Crickett Tiger (Muscogee Creek/Cochiti), Romero’s daughter, and Naomi Whitehorse (Northern Chumash and Sicangu Lakota), daughter of Romero’s frequent collaborator Leah Mata Fragua (Northern Chumash) — dressed in glamorous attire: heels, sunglasses, and necklaces linked to Native California regalia. Their styling suggests they’re preparing for a night out at the casino, yet they’re situated in a staged desert scene, surrounded by billowing smoke. Whitehorse, adorned with a traditional Native Californian chin tattoo, wields a money gun, while Tiger reclines on the ground, fanning out a wad of cash. They’re surrounded by items that link past and present: gold coins, cash, tribal ID cards, and baskets. The label accompanying “Cali Gold” addresses the California Gold Rush of 1848, which brought devastating violence, disease, and displacement to Native communities. It also points to the rise of tribal casinos and gaming over the past 50 years, a phenomenon both celebrated and debated within Native discourse. In this photograph, the women reclaim histories of hardship and division through their commanding poses, confident expressions, and defiant presence. Their identity as the next generation imbues the work with a sense of hope. Romero offers a striking rematriation of power — one where young women assert themselves within a Native California landscape deeply entangled with capitalism.

This more pointed lens extends to “Don’t Tell” (2021), but the power dynamics are far different. The photograph portrays Gary Farmer (Cayuga), a notable Native actor, posed as a Catholic priest holding a cross while covering a Native woman’s mouth, with the shadow of a hanging figure looming in the background. Romero’s decision to cast Farmer as a colonial figure adds another layer of complexity, challenging expectations around identity and historical roles. Casting a well-known Native actor as the priest may prompt Native audiences to recognize a familiar face, complicating the binary of oppressor and oppressed. It could also suggest how colonial violence has been internalized within Native communities. In diverse ways, “Cali Gold”and “Don’t Tell” exemplify Romero’s bold, unapologetic approach to historical trauma and colonial oppression. In doing so, her work challenges the predominantly White gaze that has long shaped photographic representations of these histories. By centering Native perspectives, Romero not only reclaims visual sovereignty but also asserts a powerful photographic existence that reflects Indigenous agency and critique.

Romero’s work is preceded by a room featuring pieces by the prolific Chemehuevi basket weaver Mary Snyder (1852–1951) alongside five baskets labeled as the work of a “Chemehuevi artist once known,” some drawn from Romero’s personal collection. By including Snyder’s work together with these unnamed historical pieces from the early 20th century, the exhibition honors the legacy of Chemehuevi basket weavers, likely women, who came before Romero. She carries forth her ancestors’ artistry, presenting her work as part of an unbroken lineage and a testament to the enduring strength of Chemehuevi female creativity. 

The exhibition’s next stop is the Phoenix Art Museum, just a few hours from the Chemehuevi Indian Reservation. This location offers meaningful opportunities to engage with Romero’s work in Arizona’s state capital, home to a significant Indigenous population, including Native American and Pacific Islander communities. Amid a political climate in which the current presidential administration is actively whitewashing history and cultural institutions, seeing oneself reflected in Romero’s photographs is not just affirming — it’s profoundly transformative. Her work underscores the continuity of Indigenous culture and the power of artistic reclamation.

Cara Romero: Panûpünüwügai (Living Light) continues at the Hood Museum of Art at Dartmouth College (6 East Wheelock Street, Hanover, New Hampshire) through August 9. The exhibition was curated by Jami C. Powell.